


Don't Belong to no City (Don't Belong to no Man)

by Caitirhodes17



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitirhodes17/pseuds/Caitirhodes17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s probably something to be said about the fact that the first thing out of Louis’ mouth when he wakes up on Saturday morning is “Fuck,” and the first thing he does is crawl out of bed, and trip over his laptop that must have fallen off of his bed at sometime during the night.</p>
<p>Or, the one where Louis is a college writing professor and Harry is the stay at home daycare nanny that lives next door, and sometimes love is found in the weirdest of places</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> MY FIRST FIC!!!! Please try your best to enjoy it and don't be too harsh in the comments. I do cry easily if you're wondering. I also happen to have a tumblr and a twitter if you want to follow me there! I'll put my users below. Thanks for reading and I hope you like it, even if chapter one is a bit brief. I promise they'll be longer later on. 
> 
> Twitter: @infinate_irwin  
> Tumblr: yourssincerelystlaurent

There’s probably something to be said about the fact that the first thing out of Louis’ mouth when he wakes up on Saturday morning is “Fuck,” and the first thing he does is crawl out of bed, and trip over his laptop that must have fallen off of his bed at sometime during the night. In fact, he thinks he can vaguely hear the sound of Morgan talking in what must be the end of the Criminal Minds episode he neglected last night in favor of some much needed sleep. After sorting out his sore, stubbed toe, he pulls his brand-new bedroom curtains aside to see what the hell is going on outside at such an ungodly hour, and he is is mildly surprised to see none other than his new neighbor happily mowing his lawn. Shirtless. At 8 A.M. On a Saturday. Louis grumbles to himself, stepping over his laptop and various shirts and pants littering his bedroom floor, as he makes his way to the other side of his house to boil the water for his tea.   
He begins plotting ways to potentially kill his neighbor that likes to wake up at outrageous times on the weekend, but decides against it when he arrives in the kitchen and sees the pan of brownies the guy brought over yesterday. Can a guy who brings his new neighbors homemade brownies really be that bad? And then he remembers how he, Harry, Louis remembers his name being,had been basically a walking dimple and never stopped smiling even for a second. That’s the moment when Louis decides that maybe killing him isn’t the answer, and some civil conversation is probably what a normal person would do in the situation.   
Then again, Louis never claims himself to be normal.   
After pouring his tea and opening a box of store-bought muffins, Louis decides since he’s up, he might as well make something out of his day. Maybe he’ll go to lunch with Niall and see if he wants to go out with the girls later. That seems like his best bet at this point. After opening at least ten of the hundreds of boxes sitting in his living room, Louis finds a raggedy old sweatshirt to throw on along with his joggers so he can go outside to get his mail.  
He walks outside and has to squint to see against the brightness of the June sun. Fuck that, Louis thinks, it’s way too early for the sun to be that bright. He looks to his right and there he spots Harry, in all his shirtless glory (not that louis is complaining), sporting a messy bun with some athletic shorts slung so low on his hips that Louis is positive it should be illegal, and a pair of obnoxiously bright yellow Nike shoes that look like something a middle aged suburban mom would wear. All in all, Louis is hopelessly endeared, and when Harry looks up from where he is mowing his pristine lawn and waves at Louis, he momentarily forgets that he’s wearing the same joggers he’s been wearing for a week, and his sweatshirt just got pulled from a cardboard box that has probably been packed for the better part of may and all of June so far. It’s not until Harry points at his own chest and raises his eyebrows animatedly, that Louis realizes there’s a ketchup stain on his left peck from last time he wore it, and he decidedly looks like a homeless man.   
Waving silently and feeling his cheeks up from both embarrassment, and the warmth of the summer sun, Louis walks the rest of the way to his mailbox and decides that he’s going to hide in his house forever in order to never see Harry again. It seems like the most logical thing to do after such a beautiful man saw him in such a disgusting state. He hastily scurries his way to his door and is about to turn the handle when he hears a “Hey!” being called from his left, and Louis shuts his eyes, hoping that all of this was just a dream and he’ll wake up any second. Turning around, he sees that Harry has turned off his lawn mower, taken out his earbuds, and is now looking at him with a smile that Louis swears could cure world hunger, and probably end all wars. 

“Oh, hey Harry,” Louis calls back, feeling his cheeks redden even further, something he didn’t think was possible, but apparently it is.   
“Goodmorning! I couldn’t help but notice the stain on your sweatshirt, and I’d hate for you to think it was ruined so I thought I would tell you that some white vinegar will take it right out!” Harry calls, his smile widens even further, and Louis thinks he’s in love. This is only the second conversation they’ve had and only the third time Louis has seen the man but he thinks he’s in love.   
Louis looks down at his feet to compose himself and when he looks back up, Harry is looking at him with an expression of confusion, so Louis quickly calls a “Thanks!” and rushes into his house.   
Putting his back to the door and sliding down, Louis realizes that maybe moving to Winsford wasn’t such a bad thing, and maybe he should get to grading those summer essays he’s going to have to hand back to his students in a few weeks.


	2. I'm a Hurricane

Sometimes Louis wonders why he’s single, and then he thinks, and then he doesn’t wonder so much anymore.  
The reason is quite simple and also quite obvious.  
Louis is a workaholic who cares too much about his students and too little about men in bars with small dicks and even smaller brains. His friends tell him he should really look into getting a profile on a dating website, but that seems way too desperate for a guy who spent most of his years at uni breaking the hearts of frat boys.  
The bottom line is he’s too proud to admit that he’s nearing 27 years old, all of his friends are married or on the verge of, and he can barely go on a second date with a guy. He can’t help that his standards are too high and all the good men in the world have probably already been scooped up by blonde supermodels or young guys much cuter than him. All in all, Louis’ love life has been pretty sad since he’s become a professor, and he’s beginning to wonder if his job is exactly the reason why there’s no hot scruffy men knocking on his door on a regular basis. 

 

Louis hears a knock at the door. 

 

When he opens the door and sees none other than Harry standing on his porch, covered in what looks to be flour and chocolate chips melting onto his fingertips, he decides that his life is one big ironic joke and contemplates shutting the door for good. Of course, he doesn’t, but Louis has always been one for dramatics.  
“And to what do I owe this pleasure to, Harold?” Louis asks in the calmest way he can muster. (Harry is quite the looker, okay?) and Harry smiles so wide Louis thinks he’s looking at the sun.  
“Well, Louis, my name is not Harold but I think I’ll let it slide this time, just because you’re cute and I also need a favour.” Harry says, and Louis’ face heats up for what has to be the millionth time in front of his stupid neighbor Harry Styles.  
“Yes, Harold, I know I’m cute. Now would you mind telling me what exactly it is I can do for you?” Louis asks in what he hopes is a chill and casual way.  
“Oh yeah, so I ran out of flour and I really need some because if I don’t get some cookies to these kids in the next 20 minutes I don’t know that a World War won’t occur,” Harry smiles sheepishly and locks his hands behind his back. Honestly, fuck Harry Styles and his cute self.  
“Well, you’re in luck because I happen to have loads of what you’re looking for but it’ll come at a price,” Louis says back before he thinks to add, “Stay at home dad, are we?” Louis can’t help but be nosy when there’s a chance Harry is 1) not single, or 2) not gay. As he walks further into his kitchen, he hears Harry chuckle behind him.  
“Not quite. I actually run an in-home daycare for the people in the neighborhood. Sometimes it’s hard for them to get someone to watch their kids during the summer so I started doing it for a few and it grew into a full blown business, I guess,” Harry replies, and when Louis turns around, the look on Harry’s face is almost embarrassed, anxious waiting to hear what Louis has to say about how he spends his days with toddlers and children.  
To say Louis is pleased would be an understatement. This gives Louis the confirmation that Harry is single (or at least not married with children) and that Harry also loves kids, which happens to be one of Louis’ weaknesses when it comes to choosing life partners.  
“Alright I guess I can give you the flour, if only to save you from the rascals I’m sure you have waiting at your home, but I do want a few of those cookies, Styles,” Louis says, giving Harry a serious look.  
“Oh! Of course! Thank you so much! I was going to bring you some anyway if I’m being completely honest. I love to share my baked goods with the neighborhood and judging by the empty pan of brownies I brought over the other day, you like having them shared with you,” Harry says, smirk on his face and all. Louis will not be embarrassed by this boy, nor will he be charmed. He will not.  
“I mean, I guess they were okay. Better than the store bought stuff definitely,” Louis teases, handing the flour to Harry and heading back towards the door.  
“Have a great day, and don’t forget to save some of those cookies for me Harold,” Louis shouts after Harry as he walks down his drive. Harry turns around and dimples at him and that’s the only answer he gets, but it seems like a pretty good one to Louis. 

If Louis wakes up the next morning with chocolate chip cookies on his porch and a note with a “Thanks, H xx” on it, and smiles for the rest of the day, nobody needs to know. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How Louis ended up with a slightly drunk Harry Styles in his lap on saturday evening, he doesn’t know. Well, he does know, but it isn’t the smoothest plan Louis has ever enacted. In fact, it was so unsmooth, that Louis finds himself wondering if Harry is completely sane for going along with Louis when he was an absolute stuttering, blubbering fool when he asked him to come over that night, and stayed even after the awful pasta incident. But none of that matters now, because Louis has a slightly drunk Harry Styles in his lap on a Saturday night, and as it turns out he is quite endearing (as well as quite handsy) when he’s tipsy.  
“Louis, Louis, Lou-......Louboo!” Harry is saying, mostly to himself, as he pokes at Louis’ cheeks in Louis’ candlelit living room.  
“Yes Harold, you have discovered that my mum calls me Louboo, now can we please not shout it to the whole neighborhood,” Louis replies, trying to seem at least a little bit annoyed at the situation, but truthfully Harry has his pants charmed off and his cheek poking is only making him more endearing to Louis.  
“But...But it’s so cute Louis! It’s cute like you and your fringy hair and your cute hands and-”  
“Oi! I’m not cute Harold! I’m older than you and quite frankly, I’m terrifying!” Louis replies slightly embarrassed but mostly ecstatic that Harry just called him cute.  
“Alright Haz, time for bed. You can sleep in my room and I’ll take the couch. Wouldn’t want you getting lost or chasing a squirrel around on your walk next door. I’m afraid you may never make it back,” Louis says, nudging Harry up of his lap and motioning for him to follow into his room. He pulls the blankets back and helps Harry into the bed, all while Harry is just a giggling mess, trying to tickle Louis and wrestle him into bed as well.  
After much struggle, Harry gets tucked in and when Louis turns back around from turning the TV on for him, Harry is snoring away. His face relaxed, and his curls spread out on the pillow. It scares Louis to say it, but he might be the most beautiful thing he’s seen all year. Maybe in his whole life. And that terrifies him.


End file.
